


Fall in the Wind

by Meilan_Firaga, VelvetSky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Feels, Getting Back Together, Healing, Internal Conflict, Mutual Pining, Pining, Ratings: G, Romance, Safe Haven, Slow Romance, Subtext, hurt/comfort if you squint, introspective, this is all thinky bits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23326702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetSky/pseuds/VelvetSky
Summary: Her choice was made. Rogers had escaped with Barnes. Clint and the others were in jail. The last time she talked to Tony he said they were coming for her. Natasha only has so many options, and the one she picks might just change her life.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 21
Kudos: 64
Collections: Marching Orders





	1. Chapter 1




	2. Chapter 2

As far as all the paperwork, word of mouth, and appearances went, Witchaven Woods was just a neat little apartment complex nestled in a remote bit of woods. There was a small town within a ten minute drive along some winding country roads, but the complex had the feel of complete isolation from civilization. There was a herd of deer and countless other wild critters living on the three hundred plus acres, the posted “NO HUNTING” signs offering them a kind of protection that allowed them to flourish alongside the tenants living in the cute little cabins dotted throughout the space. Though she hadn’t lived there in quite some time, the owner of Witchaven Woods was Ms. Aubrey Philomena Coulson—mother of Phillip and the only asset Nick Fury ever insisted on keeping one hundred percent off the books.

Natasha was tired, hungry, and hurting by the time she turned onto the long gravel driveway flanked by a bank of battered mailboxes on one side and a worn wooden sign on the other. She’d driven through three states, changing vehicles every few hours. Ending up on the run hadn’t been her plan, but then, neither was letting Steve and Barnes go. Coulson had told her and Barton about Witchaven Woods exactly once. He’d assured them that it would always be a safe place if they had need, and she was banking on that still being the case. When she’d made her choice in that airport hanger—the knowledge that she’d helped Steve escape looming at the back of her mind—it had been the first place she’d thought to go.

The sun had already started going down behind the dense treeline as she trundled up the long gravel drive in a beat up station wagon she’d bought for a song somewhere in Pennsylvania. She felt grimey in that way that only hours on the road can achieve, and her eyes burned from exhaustion. The drive wound up and up through the trees, weaving first in one direction and then the other, before it crested a hill and she could see the first of the complex’s two-unit cabins dotted about the land. Three of the buildings were clustered around a small lake (large pond? She was too tired to decide which was proper) at the base of the hill. To her surprise, she couldn’t tell at a glance whether or not they were inhabited. Even as she passed them by she saw no hint of movement or signs of life. The driveway continued up another hill past the cabins and took a sharp right well before it reached the top. The trees were so thick she couldn’t see the cabins below or anything beyond the path ahead.

Then, suddenly, she came to a clearing. There were more cabins set off in the trees, each with their own little parking area. They looked just as empty as the ones by the lake, but they didn’t really have her full attention. Instead, Natasha was focused on the slightly larger cabin just to the right of her car. Like all the others it was painted a warm brown that blended into the surroundings, but unlike the others it was surrounded by a low stone wall. All of the cabins she’d seen so far were a single story, but this one had a higher roof that suggested at the very least a second story loft. It was surrounded by garden beds and lawn decorations. A covered wooden porch with lattice railing stretched across most of the cabin’s front and wrapped around one side, continuing on toward the back of the building. Though the view inside was obscured by smoky sheer curtains, every first floor window was lit by a warm glow. In the very center of the stone wall was a short wooden gate propped open to reveal a cobblestone path to the porch. To one side of the gate was a well loved Volkswagon bus, and to the other was an empty parking space. Natasha eased the station wagon into the empty space, intent on the sign hanging over the gate. The words  _ ‘Caretaker’s Cottage’ _ stood out in cheerful red paint even through the growing twilight.

The station wagon practically sighed in relief as she cut the engine and stepped out onto the gravel. Without the rumbling of the engine the sounds of twilight creeping up on the forest filled the air. Wind ruffled the leaves and branches of the trees all around her. A cacophony of some sort of creature provided a constant whistle-chirp that was almost musical. Underneath it all, drifting faintly from the cottage, was a quiet melody of actual music. She made her way to the gate, reflexively twitching a hand against her side for the comfort of the sidearm hidden under her hoodie. She hadn’t taken two steps on the stone path past the gate when the front door opened inward and a figure came out onto the porch. Backlit as they were by the light from inside, Natasha was still able to make out the shotgun braced against the figure’s shoulder. Just as quickly as it was raised, though, the shotgun was lowered to point at the ground.

“Oh!” the figure exclaimed in a familiar voice that set a host of butterflies to fluttering in Natasha’s stomach. “It’s you!” The woman raised a wrist to her mouth. “Stand down. It’s Romanov.”

Several somethings shimmered in Natasha’s peripheral vision and the complex was suddenly alive. The cabins she’d seen set back in the trees had the glow of light in their windows. Gardens, vehicles, outdoor furniture, and even a tire swing hanging from one of the trees seemingly materialized out of nowhere. As did a number of figures carrying heavy weaponry and wearing camouflage gear that nearly kept them invisible without the aid of whatever shielding had blanketed the complex. As she watched they lowered their weapons and returned to various cabins. One tall figure swung down from a tree, shouldered what she was fairly sure was a high-powered rifle, gave the woman on the porch a wave, and sauntered off through the trees on a direct path to the cabins down by the lake. When they were all out of sight, Natasha finally turned back to the porch of the caretaker’s home.

“Sorry about the fully armed welcome.” She hadn’t been mistaken about the voice. There, setting aside the shotgun, was Darcy Lewis. It had been years since their… frankly, Natasha wasn’t sure what they had been to one another. “We weren’t sure who might turn up after what happened in Berlin.”

She had a lot of questions, but Natasha chose to start with the easiest. “What do you know about Berlin?”

“Figures that’s where you’d start,” Darcy snorted. She stepped down from the porch and made her way to Natasha’s side. “I know enough.” She looked her up and down and sighed. “Don’t worry too much about it. You look like you’ve been through it.”

Natasha let herself be poked and prodded up the path, onto the porch, and into the cabin. Darcy’s particular mother-hen brand of herding people hadn’t changed in the years since they’d last seen one another, and there was comfort in it. Suddenly it was like the stress of everything that had happened since Lagos was all weighing on her at once. It was exhausting and disheartening, and she just didn’t have any energy left to fight it. If she couldn’t trust Darcy, a woman who’d never given her reason to believe she was anything but a good person, then she’d rather given in now. She let herself be directed to take her shoes off at the door and tuned out Darcy’s explanation about the information network she had access to in favor of trying to take in every bit of her surroundings. Most of the cabin appeared to be an open floorplan with a huge stone fireplace in the center, a fire merrily burning inside. Just inside the door was a living space full of overstuffed furniture draped in all manner of blankets and cushions, the walls lined with overfull bookshelves. On the far side of the fireplace were— from left to right— a dining area with a round table and four chairs, a kitchen that was mostly hidden by that fireplace, and a room enclosed with walls that Natasha would be willing to bet was the cottage’s sole bathroom. There was a small spiral staircase leading up to the loft above, but no lights were on upstairs so there wasn’t much to see. By the time she tuned back into the conversation Natasha found herself on the receiving end of one of Darcy’s sternest looks.

“Shower, food, then a nap,” the younger woman insisted, pointing her in the direction of the room she’d suspected was a bathroom. “Everything else can wait.”

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

Darcy sat at her dining table in the dark, eyes glazed over as thoughts whirled about her mind like debris caught in a tornado. When Berlin hit the news she’d known that someone was bound to show up at the Woods. She’d thought it would be Clint, fresh from a jailbreak and once again towing Wanda in his wake. He’d brought the grieving Sokovian to her doorstep after everything with Ultron, searching for a place to sort out both their pain. They’d taken up residence in one the two-bedroom cabins set so far back in the woods you couldn’t see it from any of the others and stayed for a month before they got back to the world. She wouldn’t even have been surprised if he’d been dragging the entire ragged remains of Team Cap with him. They were going to need a place to lay low, and Witchaven Woods was great for that.

The last Avenger she’d expected to see was now the one sound asleep under her nana’s patchwork quilt. They had a history. As far as Darcy knew their history was supposed to be buried in a grave so deep it would never see the light of day again.

After the attack on New York, Jane had gone a little nuts when she found out that not only had Thor not bothered to say hello while he was on planet but the same jackbooted thugs that stole her equipment in New Mexico had masterminded her invitation to Tromso. Darcy had no choice but to follow her boss as they hopped from one commercial flight to another on a fury-fueled trek straight to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters in Washington D.C. It was impressive, really, how Jane managed to continue her tirade from the moment they walked into the Triskelion through every hallway they were lead down and right into the Director’s office. She’d just followed along with a smile on her face, taking in the sights and sounds of the world’s foremost intelligence agency. It didn’t hurt that the person leading them was a pretty redhead who reciprocated all of her interested glances.

What followed—aside from Jane giving Fury a piece of her mind—was probably the best week of Darcy’s life. Jane refused to leave D.C. until she felt sure that S.H.I.E.L.D. sorry (which meant until they’d sprung for funding the next six months of her research), so Darcy asked the pretty redhead on a date. Natasha was funny, even more so when she was outside of her secret agent workplace. She flirted and teased, and there was zero hesitation in the way she linked their hands or ran her leg up the back of Darcy’s calf beneath the dinner table. Every second they both weren’t working that week had been spent together. Darcy fell hard and fast, uncaring or the consequences.  _ It’s probably just this week, _ she reasoned.  _ Might as well make the most of it. _

Only, it didn’t just last the week. When Natasha dropped Darcy and Jane off at the airport, both of their bank accounts a little bit fatter with shady agency money, she pressed a little make-up pouch into Darcy’s hand with quiet instructions to open it after they were on the plane. There hadn’t been a goodbye kiss—too much risk in PDAs—but the Black Widow threw her a saucy wink before she strutted back to the standard black SUV they’d driven. Once settled on the plan, Darcy had found the pouch contained a burner phone, international, with just two numbers programmed in. One was labeled “help desk” and turned out to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. emergency message box in case they got into trouble. The other was under a contact called “Ursula”, a name that made Darcy blush when she remembered what they got up to with that movie playing in the background. By the end, both naked and sweaty, they’d agreed that the poor little mermaid would have been better off without a prince that was so easily manipulated and that it was the sea witch who seemed to be the one with her shit together. Career, own place, beloved pets. All the perks, really. When she turned the phone back on after they landed, “Ursula” had sent a text asking if she made it safely to the ground. 

From then on whenever they were in the same area they spent time together. Sometimes it was a stop-over, just enough time for coffee and a kiss before one or the other of them was rushing off to the next mission, the next observatory, or the next world ending disaster. Other times they’d find themselves undisturbed for days on end. Those times they usually didn’t bother with things like public appearances. Or clothes. Darcy learned that Natasha preferred to turn in early and be up with the sun, that she took her coffee with vanilla creamer and a sprinkle of nutmeg, and that she hated nothing on Earth more than she hated the movie Killer Klowns from Outer Space. And she learned that no matter how open Nat might be about some things, there were lines she absolutely wouldn’t cross. She didn’t get upset or run away when Darcy finally broke and dropped the l-word, but she didn’t say it back either. She’d always smile this sad, slightly incredulous little smile and press a kiss to her forehead, explanation given. She wouldn’t define whatever they were either. Not that Darcy had tried. She wasn’t stupid enough to ask, and she’d read enough comic books to know that defining the relationship would put an automatic target on her back. No, thank you.

After the Triskelion fell, Nat turned up in London. Not right away, of course. She’d put on incredible performances in front of Congress and all the other U.S. authorities that Darcy had watched with baited breath. It was at least a month, nearly two, before she came ‘round to the little flat on an evening when Jane and Thor were out. She didn’t come through the window or just appear in the living room like she’d always done before. She actually knocked at the front door, and when she pulled it open and saw her standing there Darcy’s heart squeezed so painfully she thought she might cry. Natasha looked perfect. She always did, even when she was beat all to hell from whatever spy work or Avenging she’d been up to, but there was something about her in that moment that flipped a switch in Darcy’s brain and threw everything into sudden clarity. The knock was because she thought she wouldn’t be welcome. Her history was laid bare with the data dump, and she was genuinely unsure that Darcy would want her around. The hesitancy and the forehead kisses made a very sad kind of sense. Natasha wasn’t unable to feel anything for Darcy. She wasn’t just using her to fill time and keep her entertained between missions, never to return her feelings. Natasha Romanov didn’t think she deserved feelings. She didn’t think anyone should or would find her worthy when they knew everything that she was and everything she’d done.

Well, Darcy hadn’t been about to just let that slide. She’d dragged the other woman inside and spent the next few days reassuring her without words that nothing about Darcy’s feelings and changed in the slightest. That they weren’t going to change. She said ‘I love yous’ and made sugared coffees and cuddled her even when the both of them needed to get out of bed and do literally anything else. She made sure they laughed and ate trashy junk food she knew Nat didn’t bother with except when they were together. When Thor and Jane came home they all had dinners together and for nearly a week it almost seemed like Nat was going to accept that she was allowed to have good things. That she could be loved. That she could let herself be happy.

Still, it wasn’t a surprise when Darcy awoke in a cold bed with no sign of the woman who’d been there with her when she fell asleep. She shuffled through the apartment, checking every nook and cranny where some of Nat’s things had ended up over the past few days. All of them were gone. On one end of the kitchen counter she found Natasha’s personal phone—the one that she only used for Darcy and Clint—and a note with just two words on it.  _ I can’t _ . She wasn’t mad. Couldn’t be, when she finally got why. It still hurt like hell.

Darcy thought over all of it as she sat in the dark, a mug of coffee clutched in her hands. There was no way she’d be getting to sleep, so she might as well have the caffeine.  _ She misses you, _ Clint had assured her once while he’d been her neighbor.  _ She just… doesn’t know how to live. _ She hadn’t believe him then, but now? With the way Natasha had looked at her when she realized who she was, all disbelief and sudden nerves in every microexpression? Darcy didn’t pride herself on a lot of things. She had some modest hacking and forging abilities and could make a mean beef stroganoff over a bunsen burner. But once she got a feel for someone she just  _ got _ them. And she got Natasha Romanov. Nat was the living embodiment of a trust issue on her best mental health day. She had, as someone in the show had once jokingly diagnosed Buffy Summers, an inferiority complex about her superiority complex when it came to fixing her mistakes. She’d make a martyr of herself to make up for the things she thought no one else would forgive because she couldn’t forgive them, but she’d also just done something incredible. She’d let Cap and The Winter Soldier go against everything she’d been preaching. Which meant that she had, for perhaps the first time, done something not because it fit into her current plan or the politics she was trying to navigate but because it felt right.

That right there was a reason to hope. Darcy didn’t care if she got to be with her again. She just wanted Nat to be happy. Really happy. The kind of happy where she didn’t question it and let herself just be. If she could just encourage that doing because of feeling… It was a step at least.

Moving quietly, she poured another cup set about fortifying her heart. It was going to be rough, being around her like this, but she’d do it. Anything for love and all that.

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

Natasha awoke warm and comfortable, nestled in a mountain of pillows and blankets. She came awake as she always did in unfamiliar surroundings, with no outward sign that she was conscious. Eyes closed, she let her other senses do the heavy lifting still unsure whether what she remembered of the night before was real or some exhaustion fueled fever dream. The scent of vanilla and coffee was wafting through the room, a scent she hadn’t awoken to in years. At the upstate facility it was a miracle to get coffee that hadn’t been left too long on the burner. She could hear the sound of someone puttering about in a kitchen—the rattle of a dish and the clink of silverware—and something else. A low, steady rumble that was coming from somewhere close. Slowly, she opened her eyes to find herself staring into a pair of golden yellow ones half a foot from her face. A black cat was lying on the ottoman, watching her intently. Its whiskers twitched, but the rumble of its purr never faltered.

“That’s Trix.” Darcy came around the central fireplace, a mug of coffee in each hand. She was wearing leggings and an oversized burgundy sweater that was falling off one shoulder. “Because she’s a silly rabbit.” She held out one of the mugs as she settled onto the ottoman behind the cat, and Natasha took it gratefully.

“What’s a rabbit have to do with a cat?” She took a sip of the coffee, her heart banging against her ribs as she realized it was doctored just the way she liked. Years later and Darcy was still taking care of her.

“Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids?” Her companion rolled her eyes at Nat’s blank expression. “Kids sugary breakfast cereal out of the nineties. Used to have colorful fruit shaped pieces. The commercials were wild.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Darcy stood just as quickly as she’d sat down, disturbing the cat enough that it leaped down from the ottoman and stalked off. “Come on. Let’s go out on the deck.”

When she’d extricated herself from the couch and followed her host Natasha found herself being led through a pair of French doors at the back of the cabin and onto the back half of the porch she’d seen wrapping around the building’s side the night before. Darcy led her to the railing where they both took in the sights of the morning. This part of the house faced both the rising sun and the little valley below for a truly stellar morning view. She could see a heron standing in the shallows of the little lake. Without whatever cloaking tech had been in place the previous night she could see a substantial garden stretching out behind one of the cabins. As they watched, a tall man emerged from one of the cabin’s screened porches and walked through the garden rows, bending down here and there to straighten a plant or pull up a weed. A small spaniel trailed behind him, its floppy ears sometimes catching on a leaf. He appeared to be the same man that had descended from a tree with the rifle the previous night, and Natasha realized with a start that she recognized him.

“Is that Jack Rollins?” she asked incredulously.

“Yep,” Darcy replied. “He traded all the info he had on HYDRA in return for the promise of a quiet life.” She paused for a sip of her coffee, smiling faintly. “He grew up on a farm. Was only in it with HYDRA for the money. He’s sweet once you get past the murder face. Makes great strudel. The dog is Button.”

Still reeling, Nat decided to leave that one alone for the moment and jump right into it. “Why are you here, Darcy?”

“I live here, Natasha,” she teased, giving Nat a smile that twisted in her stomach. She should be mad at her, not smiling like it was any other morning they got to spend together. 

“You know what I mean.”

“No fun,” Darcy pouted, but she sighed and continued with the answer Natasha was looking for. “Granny asked me to take over not long before the whole Ultron fiasco. Couldn’t think of a reason to say no.” She shrugged. “I love Jane, but I was getting tired of not being able to put up pictures or hang my clothes in a closet instead of living out of a suitcase.”

“Did you just say Granny?” Nat couldn’t have heard that right. Because if the owner of Witchaven Woods was Darcy’s grandmother that would mean…

Darcy stared at her with wide eyes for a long moment. “You really never read my file?”

Natasha’s heart ached. It was the only time in her life that she’d not looked someone up. She knew that Thor trusted both Jane and Darcy, and she’d let that be enough. “I’ve lied to a lot of people about a lot of things,” she admitted quietly, “but I never lied to you.”

As if the sun weren’t bright enough, the smile Darcy gave her next was almost blinding. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed that smile. “My dad’s last name is Lewis, but my mom’s is Coulson. Uncle Phil did his best to keep us all off books. We didn’t see him much because of his job, but he wrote a lot of letters. I’ve got a box of them in my closet somewhere if you ever want to see them. I know you liked him.” She set her coffee cup on the railing and stretched, a few joints popping as she moved. “So, how long are you staying?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha admitted, looking deep into her mug to avoid staring at Darcy more than she should. She was a bundle of nerves just being in the same place as the younger woman again, the old guilt for how she’d left a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not even sure why I came.”

“Psh,” Darcy scoffed. “We both know that’s a lie. You came here because your choices of places to go right now are deep undercover at one of your safe houses, on the run with Steve and his merry men, or here.” She waved a hand over the rail, indicating the view. “Personally, I think you made the best choice. We’ve got all the pretty scenery.” Below them Rollins reached the end of his garden and scooped what must have been a ball out of the dirt. He gave it an underhanded throw and the little spaniel was off like a shot. Darcy’s smile turned soft. “This is a good place. Pick a cabin. Rest. Let the magic in our little community give you a little helping hand.”

“I don’t believe in magic, solnyshka.” The nickname was a reflex, and she didn’t even realize she’d said it. She was so determined not to stare, her gaze focused on the man and dog down my the little lake, that she missed the way Darcy’s cheeks colored when the name rolled past her lips.

“Magic’s just science we don’t understand yet, Nat,” Darcy admonished her, and when she turned to look at her she found a sad little smile. “Don’t you think you deserve to find the magic in life? After all you’ve been through maybe you need it more than most.” Her piece said, Darcy turned and disappeared back into the cabin, leaving Natasha confused and brooding at the rail.

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

Natasha was still there when the summer faded into autumn. She’d taken up residence in half of the cabin directly across from the one where Rollins lived with his dog. It hadn’t escaped Darcy’s notice that the cabin she picked was the one at the bottom of the wooden steps that wove down the hillside from just outside of her own garden gate. For the first week or so she kept to herself. Darcy only saw her when she stepped out onto her own deck in the mornings to watch the sunrise with coffee in hand. Then, one morning in the second week, Darcy walked out on her balcony to see red hair glinting in Rollins’ garden by the light of the rising sun. The two former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents seemed to reach some sort of understanding, and after that morning Natasha greeted most days by helping Rollins weed and playing with Button. Darcy watched it all with a sense of wary amusement, happy to see the other woman doing something so simple but wary of the day she’d wake up and find her gone again.

Then she showed up for Darcy’s weekly Sunday breakfast. The loaf of banana bread she brought was a little dry and more than a little misshapen, but it was an effort at something even the Black Widow didn’t seem able to explain. She didn’t talk much, seeming instead to alternate between studying the rest of the community residents sitting around the table and engaging in some sort of internal struggle. Darcy didn’t press. She kept the conversation light and topped up Nat’s mug with coffee and creamer whenever it looked like she was getting low. 

She hadn’t been lying when she told her old flame that there was magic to the woods. It wasn’t the flashy, explosive kind of magic they’d all seen whenever Thor called the thunder, but it was there all the same. Darcy saw it when the sun peeked over the trees, when the deer came up so close to the cabins you could almost reach out and touch them, and when a spray of fallen leaves danced on a breeze. It was life and it was peace, the things that she’d fallen in love with when she came to live in Witchaven Woods. It had helped to heal her broken heart. She hoped as the days went by that Natasha was starting to see it, to feel it, too—that maybe it could help her understand that she deserved that serenity in her own life.

It was after the first month that Darcy found Natasha on her porch with a bottle of wine on a Tuesday night. Still quiet as a cat, she’d made no sound when she came up the steps and onto the boards. It startled Darcy, but she went to the kitchen for her corkscrew and a pair of glasses all the same. She expected the evening to be tense, their history and how they’d ended charging the air, but just like all that time ago being in Nat’s company was easy. They talked their way through the bottle over the next few hours without ever bringing up the things that hung behind them. Nat was funny like she’d been in their earliest encounters. She’d always had stories of idiot marks that had fallen for whatever pretense she sold them to get needed information, but now those stories had faces Darcy recognized. Rollins featured in a lot of them from both of their days in S.H.I.E.L.D., but she also had stories about Thor that left Darcy breathless with laughter.

It became a ritual, their nights with a bottle of wine. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for it. There was no usual day or number of days between them. Darcy never turned her away, never wanted to, but it was never anything but company and conversation. She’d call it an easy friendship. Wine nights became daytime working visits. Darcy always seemed to be fussing with a piece of security equipment, trotting from cabin to cabin on a maintenance call, or fighting her way through the paperwork that running a tenant property entailed. Natasha began showing up to help her, whether it was by holding tools or just refilling her coffee. There were other things, too. She installed solar panels and wind turbines, all manner of things to keep the Woods green and self-sustaining, and she got so used to Natasha helping her with the work that she couldn’t remember what it had been like before when she did it all by herself. 

There was something that Darcy couldn’t quite put her finger on. She reminded herself every night when she settled into her old brass bed alone that she was making sure Natasha had a place to heal. She had a mantra that she repeated every night.  _ This is good for her. She deserves a quiet, easy life. I can be a friend to help her achieve that and learn to accept that she’s allowed to have it. _ She repeated it to herself as she burrowed beneath the covers and cuddled Trix to her chest. Only when she was done with the repetition did she open her mental floodgates and revel in the butterflies and love that she still felt, reliving every word and glance they’d shared that day. It was only right that she kept her thoughts and feelings under such a tight lid. They weren’t what Nat needed, but still something niggled at her brain.

“I’d say penny for your thoughts, but we both know I’m not exactly working.”

Darcy shook herself and put her game face on, turning from where she’d been staring at Rollins’ garden to the woman that had apparently come up to her balcony without catching her notice. “Wool gathering. Completely lost track.” She smiled, fighting hard to keep from blushing over the fact that she’d gotten so distracted thinking about the woman at her side that she’d stopped watching her in the garden below. “What brings you up to my humble abode before I’ve even gotten out of my bunny slippers?” She gave the pink monstrosities on her feet a little wiggle for good measure, running the dangerous risk of catching Trix’s attention.

“Jack thinks the apples over in the north orchard might be ready for picking,” Natasha explained, hefting the wicker basket she held in her other hand for emphasis. “If you’re not too busy I thought you might want to go apple picking with me.”

“Absolutely!” Darcy bounced on her toes, almost vibrating with enthusiasm. “I’ve been looking forward to fresh apples! If we get done before noon I can have some great cider ready by nightfall.” She danced through the open French doors, depositing her coffee cup on the counter as she went, and called back over her shoulder. “Help yourself to one of the cinnamon rolls on the stove. I just need a few minutes to get changed.” 

She dressed in jeans, boots, and sweater in record time. By the time she finished wrangling her unruly chocolate curls into a braid and made her way back down to the kitchen Natasha had not only polished off two of the cinnamon rolls but had washed every dish in the sink. She was finishing up the mixing bowl when Darcy came down the spiral staircase, her back to the main body of the cabin. Darcy stopped on the last step to watch her for a moment. The only time she’d seen the redhead so relaxed as she was in that moment was right after a roll between the sheets. The old tension that she’d always held in every muscle was gone. Her hips swayed gently from side to side in keeping with the rhythm of the soft tune she was humming. She looked… free.

“Are you ready?”

Darcy tried and failed not to jump at the question. She had a habit of coming down stairs with all the grace of a very determined elephant, so she really shouldn’t be surprised that her approach had been heard. “Just need another basket!” she chirped. “Don’t want to leave any good ones to rot!”

The walk to the north orchard was relatively short. It was on the far side of the lake from the cabins at the end of a path lined in wrought iron arches. Granny had once told Darcy that the arches were put in for roses, but they took so much tending that she’d had to have them ripped out when she got older. She made a mental note to look into planting roses come spring. It would be pretty to see all the arches covered and if he ever thought she was behind in their tending Rollins was bound to take over. He liked growing things. He’d been right about the apples. There were dozens of trees in the orchard, and the rows of apple trees were heavily laden in perfectly ripe fruit. Darcy started at the end of a row of trees carrying pink and red apples while Natasha took their neighboring row of tart green and yellow fare. 

“I always liked apples,” Natasha said conversationally after they’d been busy picking for several minutes. “Fresh ones and cooked ones. I love apple tarts and pies. The press used to say Steve was as American as apple pie, but he couldn’t stand the stuff.”

“Well, you are in luck,” Darcy bragged. She stretched up on the tips of her toes to reach a particularly plump fruit. “Because I happen to have a ton of really delicious apple recipes. And now is the season when I cook and bake my way through every last one of them.”

“I’m lucky for a lot of reasons.” It was said so quietly that Darcy almost missed it, but the next bit was louder. “You were right about this place.” Natasha wasn’t looking at her, intent on her task. “It’s a good place.”

“Just what you needed?”

“More than I knew,” Natasha admitted.

With a sagely nod, Darcy shifted her basket and reached for another apple. “Ah, yes. Another convert,” she snarked. “I knew you’d see it my way and admit there’s magic in these here hills.”

“I didn’t say anything about magic,” Nat snorted. She set her basket to one side, bent her knees, and hefted herself up onto one of the trees lower branches. “We’d better hush if we want to get these picked early enough for you to make that cider you mentioned.” 

They picked their way through the next few trees in relative silence, each of them occasionally humming a little tune. When their baskets were nearly full and Nat had pulled herself up higher in another tree Darcy smirked. “You know,” she teased, “you didn’t say you didn’t believe in magic, either.” She caught the apple that Natasha threw at her with the basket in her hands, joyful laughter bubbling up. She smiled at it the rest of the time the spent picking, her one tart fruit in a sea of sweet.

Natasha didn’t leave when they got back to the cabin. Instead, she settled herself on a stool in Darcy’s little kitchen and offered to make herself useful. Her training for knife work hadn’t been meant for it, but it made for quick dicing of the apples Darcy selected for cider. Between the two of them they had the batch in a pot on the stove in no time at all, simmering away with oranges, sugar, and spices. It smelled divine even before the heat was added. It would need to simmer for a couple of hours, but she didn’t really feel like being alone so when Nat suggested they watch a movie Darcy wasn’t about to refuse. They curled up on opposite ends of her squashy couch with a bowl of popcorn between them and Trix lying on the ottoman like usual. They paused halfway through so Darcy could tend the cider, mashing the fruits and adding more spices to suit her. Nat made them a quick meal of sandwiches and chips that they ate when they settled back in on the couch. If they noticed that the center cushion seemed to have grown smaller with the break neither commented. 

The movie was over with perfect timing, and Darcy enlisted Nat’s help to strain out the fruit before pouring each of them a steaming cup. They took the cider with them out onto the porch and the two person swing that hung at the side of the house. The swing faced up the hill instead of down into the valley, giving them a view of beautifully backlit trees as the sun started to dip down to the horizon. They settled into the seat so close their thighs touched, and Darcy held Natasha’s mug while she spread the patchwork quilt she’d slept beneath that first night over both their laps. They sat in companionable silence, Nat gently rocking the swing with one let while they sipped on the cider.

Darcy didn’t think the day could have been more perfect. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of a day like this when she’d gotten out of bed that morning. There was probably a list of things she should have done that day—maintenance or paperwork or any number of other things. She’d probably have to work a little harder the next day to make up for it, but this? Having the proof from Nat’s own mouth that this place was good for her? Seeing the other woman smile and laugh like she was taking life one day at a time instead of living for the chance to fix her past? This was a day worth getting the rest of her week, the rest of her month even, completely off track. If she’d thought back at the start of the summer that a day like this was going to come so quickly she might have jumped for joy. The only thing that could make it better was… no, she’d save that for when she crawled into bed, after she’d said her mantra a few extra times just to be sure. She could call this enough. They’d spent a great day together. There were apples and treats and company. She could be content with that.

And Nat was staring at her. Not the murder stare she gave people whose ass she was about to kick, thank Thor, but a sort of contemplative thing. She’d been doing it a lot, actually. It was rare when she’d first arrived, but the longer she stayed in Witchaven Woods the more Darcy found herself on the receiving end of that stare. She’d noticed it so many times that day she’d stopped keeping count before they were even done picking the apples. It’s been a good day, she reassured herself. There was a hum of life in the crispness of the air, the sweater she’d picked out that morning was particularly cozy, and the mug of hot cider in her hand was both fresh and delicious. On a day like that she could definitely find the courage to ask about The Stare.

“What  _ are _ you looking at?” she demanded with a huff of laughter. Her cheeks warmed as the stare continued, tension suddenly crackling in the air between them. It was more than familiar. They’d always had such a spark. She’d been telling herself all the time that Nat had been in her little woodland commune that it was all just a memory in her head, encouraged by proximity and her own desires, but she suddenly wasn’t so sure that was the case.

It took a long moment, but a sweet, genuine smile crossed Natasha’s lips. Slowly—deliberately—the redhead reached one hand over and laced their fingers together on top of the blanket, her eyes never leaving Darcy’s face. “Magic, solnyshka,” she breathed, reverence in every syllable. “I’m looking at magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My very brief Google search told me that "solnyshka" translated to 'sunshine.' I thought it would be a very fitting nickname given the circumstances. :) 
> 
> I wrote 7000 words, they didn't even kiss, and I am not the least bit sorry. :p The layout and general feel of Witchaven Woods is based on the very real apartment complex where I live, though unlike real life the one in the story is not in the wilds of Ohio. Many, MANY thanks to the mods of The Darcyverse for organizing this little shindig, VelvetSky for that INCREDIBLE moodboard (seriously, go back a chapter and stare at that some more. I'm in love!), and the denizens of The Darcyverse who did word sprints with me for the better part of an afternoon to get this done. <3 <3 <3 We have an incredible community and I am SO PROUD to be a part of it!


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